Here it is the last day of 2005. I'm not feeling very well-- jaw is tense, I've got a headache and my stomach is wonky. So what do I decide to do? Go get some food of course. Off and into the village. I've really started to hate walking down to Castro Street. Feeling ill just fuels the hate.
As I approached the corner of 18th at Castro a woman called out to me. "Excuse me Sir, I am with the 'Fun Patrol.'"
Oh fuck. Not again.
"And I need to site you for not smiling, not shaving and well looking at cute boys. Where are you from?" She pulled out a sticker and handed it to me. I grabbed it and placed it in my pocket.
"What do you mean I'm not smiling?" I said in a nasty tone I usually reserve for telemarketers or Jehovah's Witnesses-- people you know won't readily pop you in the mouth. "And not shaving, this is called a beard. And if cute boys means drunk trolls. Then yes, you've got me there."
She was a bit stunned. She stammered "Well, ummm, ok. Well we're out here collecting money to feed the homeless. Would you donate today?"
"Why the ruse? Why don't you just ask for money. Tell you what-- I'm going to go get myself something to eat and I'll come back by and give you the change."
She seemed a bit too keen on the idea. So of course after getting my food 'to go' I walked the other way.